


breathing in your dust

by birdsofthesoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofthesoul/pseuds/birdsofthesoul
Summary: “You’re such a dick,” Dean says, but he lets Sam pull him close.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: Supernatural Spring Fling 2020





	breathing in your dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tifaching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/gifts).



Dean’s a lousy camper.

This probably shouldn’t have come as a big surprise to Sam, because it’s not like Dean’s ever shown a deep, abiding affinity for nature, but all the same, he expected Dean to be _better_ at roughing it. He even hoped that his brother might grow to _like_ it, which was clearly delusional of him, because he’s come to realize in the last few hours that his brother is, at best, cut out for glamping.

Maybe not even that.

“You sure you don’t want to join me out here?” he asks, trying to coax Dean out of the tent. “Are you really going to spend the whole night inside a glorified sleeping bag?”

“If it stops me from getting eaten by the mosquitoes,” Dean says, unzipping the tent just enough so that Sam gets blasted with the full force of his glare. “Are you actually _enjoying_ this?”

“Yes,” Sam says, utterly unapologetic.

Dean flips him off and zips the tent back up.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Sam says to his brother’s silhouette. “Didn’t you say that we should try to make the best out of a bad situation?”

“No, I said _I’d_ try to make the best out of a bad situation. _You_ don’t get to be happy about this, because _you_ set a skunk loose in our home.”

“And I’m very sorry,” Sam says. He _is_. And he’ll fix things as soon as he figures out how to do pest control without getting skunk fart on everything in the bunker, but that’s a job for tomorrow, once Cas gets here with his animal-whispering skills. “I said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? How am I supposed to do that when you’re holed up in there?”

“That boat sailed already,” Dean says, voice muffled by the fabric. “You were supposed to make it up to me by booking us a hotel.”

“We live in motels all the time, Dean.”

“When I said hotel, I meant _hotel_. As in four stars, room service, valet parking.”

“How about this? You get to boss me around, and I won’t even complain.”

The tent flap opens. “For the whole weekend?”

“Sure,” Sam says, feeling magnanimous. “Or until Cas finds the skunk.”

“And you decontaminate our rooms,” Dean says pointedly.

“Deal. Now come on.” He pats the spot beside him. “I’ve been saving this spot for you.”

Dean takes a seat on the blanket gingerly. “I can _feel_ the rocks digging into my butt,” he says, making a face. “What do you get out of this anyway?”

“We used to look at the stars all the time,” Sam says. “Thought we could try that again tonight.”

“We still look at them,” Dean points out. “We just do it indoors. With an awesome telescope.”

“Which is very nice,” Sam agrees, “but it’s not the same.”

Dean looks at him strangely. “That’s it? You’re willing to be my bitch for the weekend just to do a little stargazing?”

Sam considers his answer carefully. “If I say yes, does that mean you’ll be less mad at me?”

“Maybe,” Dean allows.

“Then yes,” Sam says quickly.

“You’re such a girl,” Dean sighs.

“Says the prissy princess,” Sam shoots back.

Dean subsides with a pout. “Aren’t you supposed to be _nice_ to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, contrite. “What can I get you to make you more comfortable?”

“A beer.”

“…maybe something that’s not inside the bunker?”

“I don’t know, a space heater? I’m freezing my nuts off over here.”

They only have the one blanket they rescued from the Impala when they fled the bunker, and they’re already lying on top of it. Sam strips off his jacket and hands it to Dean.

“I don’t want your jacket,” Dean says, frowning.

“I don’t need it,” Sam says. “I’m not the one who’s afraid of the cold, remember?”

“Just because you have more body mass,” Dean grumbles, but he lets Sam drape the jacket over his shoulders.

“It’s muscle mass,” Sam whispers into Dean’s ear, and Dean flips him off lazily.

“You’re such a dick,” Dean says, but he lets Sam pull him close. He pulls out a pack of Camels from his pocket. “Don’t give me that look,” he says without looking, “this is just to keep me warm.”

Sam wasn’t going to say anything. He lights the Camel for his brother, then steals it from Dean’s fingers to take a drag himself.

“Such a brat,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“Such a princess,” Sam returns, handing the cigarette back to Dean.

Dean scowls, but he doesn’t deny it, just takes a long, huffy pull. They alternate, passing the cigarette back and forth until it burns down to the filter.

Sam lies down on the blanket, gestures for Dean to join him. “Look,” he says, tilting his chin up towards the sky. It’s a clear night, and all of the stars have come out to shine down upon them. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Dean just shifts closer, until their shoulders are touching. “Remember when you were really into constellations and Greek mythology?” he says fondly. “You were such a nerd.”

“You were the one who told me those stories,” Sam says, grinning. “That was before you started making up your own stories. You had a pretty vivid imagination for a twelve year old.”

“Yeah?” Dean perks up. “You remember any?”

“Why? You angling for a bedtime story now?”

“I totally deserve one,” Dean says, giving him big, wounded eyes. “I was chased by a rabid skunk out of my own home because my brother decided to bring one back for his spellwork. His _botched_ spellwork, if I may add.”

Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “All right,” he says, “you win.” He digs hard into his memories for a story Dean used to tell. “Right,” he says. “You used to tell me stories about Castor and Pollux. Except you had them journeying through a black hole, in a weird, prescient version of _Interstellar._ ”

He thinks he gets most of the plot right — it’s pretty outlandish, so it’s hard to forget, and he’s added his own embellishments. He’s pretty proud of the end result. When he finishes, he turns to look at Dean for approval.

“What do you think?”

“That was great,” Dean says sleepily. He turns his head slightly so that his nose brushes against Sam’s shoulder, a clear sign that he’s ready to go to sleep.

“I’ve missed this,” Sam says quietly.

Dean doesn’t say anything back.

Sam adjusts the jacket so that it’s covering Dean’s torso and turns back to the stars. It’s not a bad night, he thinks to himself. He’ll have to come up with more excuses to drag Dean out of the bunker — he can’t rely on a skunk to do his dirty work every time he’s sick of living in the barracks. But he thinks Dean will be easier to convince the next time around. He had fun tonight, didn’t he?

He closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep. He can hear the crickets chirping, and he’s briefly glad that Dean’s already fallen asleep, or he’d probably be sent on a cricket murder spree. “Such a princess,” he mutters again under his breath, laughing quietly to himself.

Dean makes an angry, snuffling sound, and Sam shuts up. He peers at Dean carefully, but his brother’s eyes are still closed. He doesn’t _look_ like he’s faking sleep.

Sam settles back and allows his breathing to even out. He’s not drifting off — he’ll never fall asleep as easily as Dean does, he thinks ruefully — but he can try. He hears a soft, rustling sound from beside him, and he keeps his eyes closed. He feels Dean press a little closer, and does his best to suppress his grin.

Dean sighs – it’s more of an exhale, really, but Sam knows he meant it as a sigh. “I missed this too, Sammy,” he whispers, half to himself.

He hears Dean roll over again, and when the snoring starts, he knows that his brother is truly asleep. And then, irrepressibly, he starts smiling.

He falls asleep that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Arctic Monkeys' _I Wanna Be Yours_.


End file.
